life. Besides, I was so exhausted. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Couldn’t take what anymore?”
“You don’t understand if you’ve never lived it, and it’s so hard to explain.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you tried anyway. You’d be doing me a real favor.”
I looked at him. A stranger to my land, or at least to my mental landscape, and I wondered how many people in town could have explained why I was so tired. Even Ivy would have had only the vaguest of ideas.
“Why do you want to know?”
He considered this for a moment. “Think of it like this. I am going to minister in this town for the next three to five years, at least. Not tomorrow, but eventually, there may be another person who leaves your father’s sect. How do I help them when they show up at my door? The more you tell me, the more I’ll have an idea of where to start.”
I almost told him to take a hike. That there was no way I was going to coach him on stealing my father’s sheep. I wrestled with my need to defend my father, and what I actually believed intellectually to be a reasonable request. It took a minute, but intellect won. Just barely.
“I was afraid, and I was tired of being afraid. My father always stressed that God could return at any second. So I lived my life trying to be perfect. Because if I wasn’t perfect, that would be the second that God would come back, or I would die, and I’d be sent to hell for the unrepentant sin in my life. It’s overwhelming to try and live like that. Trying to keep even a sinful thought from flitting through your brain. I wasn’t strong enough to live like that.”
“Keziah, it’s never supposed to be about what we do, it’s supposed to be about what God does.”
“I know that. I mean I know that in my head. God’s promises. Forgiveness. Our loving Father. I know all that. I could probably quote you chapter and verse. I believe it too. I do. It’s just...”
“You want your father to love and respect you,” he said.
“Well, isn’t that what we all want?”
“Probably.”
Then I saw the humor in the situation and snorted a little. “And look who I’m talking to about it.”
“What?”
“Well, look at you. You are a pastor. Your folks must be ecstatic. I bet they tell everyone they know about ‘our son the pastor.’ It’s like they hit the Christian jackpot for children. The only way you could be a better son is if you marry the perfect Lutheran girl and have at least two sons that also become pastors. You’re totally set.”
“That would be true, were my parents Lutheran.”
“They’re not?”
“No. United Brethren.”
“
Whoo.
How did they take it? Were they mad?”
“Not mad. Confused. Like robins that accidentally raised a cowbird. Like they love me, but I’m a changeling.”
A strange sense of recognition flooded over me, and I teared up. It had been so long since I’d felt like I wasn’t alone. I’d known many people who had left Christianity altogether, and become Muslims, or Buddhists, or Atheists, or nothing at all. They all had reasons, political agendas, or bad experiences. Something. But to leave the denomination you were raised in to join a more old fashioned or traditional denomination? It was like moving backwards somehow.
The arrival of our food saved me, and I hoped he hadn’t noticed that I’d teared up. The moment passed, and the conversation moved on.
“How’s Mrs. Clack?” A loaded question.
“She is as she ever was.”
I laughed.
*
When I arrived back at the Brandt’s, I found Ivy and Linus out on the back deck. They were drinking coffee, sitting quietly at the round iron patio table. Linus motioned me to the third chair, and Ivy poured me a cup from the white carafe sitting between them. Ivy had been crying.
I took a sip of my coffee. “I can go. It’s no problem. I totally understand.”
“Don’t be crazy,” said Ivy.
“We love having you here,” said Linus.
“But sometimes a family needs
“Couldn’t take what anymore?”
“You don’t understand if you’ve never lived it, and it’s so hard to explain.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you tried anyway. You’d be doing me a real favor.”
I looked at him. A stranger to my land, or at least to my mental landscape, and I wondered how many people in town could have explained why I was so tired. Even Ivy would have had only the vaguest of ideas.
“Why do you want to know?”
He considered this for a moment. “Think of it like this. I am going to minister in this town for the next three to five years, at least. Not tomorrow, but eventually, there may be another person who leaves your father’s sect. How do I help them when they show up at my door? The more you tell me, the more I’ll have an idea of where to start.”
I almost told him to take a hike. That there was no way I was going to coach him on stealing my father’s sheep. I wrestled with my need to defend my father, and what I actually believed intellectually to be a reasonable request. It took a minute, but intellect won. Just barely.
“I was afraid, and I was tired of being afraid. My father always stressed that God could return at any second. So I lived my life trying to be perfect. Because if I wasn’t perfect, that would be the second that God would come back, or I would die, and I’d be sent to hell for the unrepentant sin in my life. It’s overwhelming to try and live like that. Trying to keep even a sinful thought from flitting through your brain. I wasn’t strong enough to live like that.”
“Keziah, it’s never supposed to be about what we do, it’s supposed to be about what God does.”
“I know that. I mean I know that in my head. God’s promises. Forgiveness. Our loving Father. I know all that. I could probably quote you chapter and verse. I believe it too. I do. It’s just...”
“You want your father to love and respect you,” he said.
“Well, isn’t that what we all want?”
“Probably.”
Then I saw the humor in the situation and snorted a little. “And look who I’m talking to about it.”
“What?”
“Well, look at you. You are a pastor. Your folks must be ecstatic. I bet they tell everyone they know about ‘our son the pastor.’ It’s like they hit the Christian jackpot for children. The only way you could be a better son is if you marry the perfect Lutheran girl and have at least two sons that also become pastors. You’re totally set.”
“That would be true, were my parents Lutheran.”
“They’re not?”
“No. United Brethren.”
“
Whoo.
How did they take it? Were they mad?”
“Not mad. Confused. Like robins that accidentally raised a cowbird. Like they love me, but I’m a changeling.”
A strange sense of recognition flooded over me, and I teared up. It had been so long since I’d felt like I wasn’t alone. I’d known many people who had left Christianity altogether, and become Muslims, or Buddhists, or Atheists, or nothing at all. They all had reasons, political agendas, or bad experiences. Something. But to leave the denomination you were raised in to join a more old fashioned or traditional denomination? It was like moving backwards somehow.
The arrival of our food saved me, and I hoped he hadn’t noticed that I’d teared up. The moment passed, and the conversation moved on.
“How’s Mrs. Clack?” A loaded question.
“She is as she ever was.”
I laughed.
*
When I arrived back at the Brandt’s, I found Ivy and Linus out on the back deck. They were drinking coffee, sitting quietly at the round iron patio table. Linus motioned me to the third chair, and Ivy poured me a cup from the white carafe sitting between them. Ivy had been crying.
I took a sip of my coffee. “I can go. It’s no problem. I totally understand.”
“Don’t be crazy,” said Ivy.
“We love having you here,” said Linus.
“But sometimes a family needs
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